


The Believer

by EclecticSpaghettiForLife



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: F/M, Ink Machine, Joey Drew Studios, oh wow heres an update my god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-03-15 22:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13622967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticSpaghettiForLife/pseuds/EclecticSpaghettiForLife
Summary: Sammy Lawrence, the music director at Joey Drew Studios, has never been very happy with his job. He loves the work, but the conditions which he must live with are almost inexcusable. Very soon, however, everything will change for him.





	1. The New Song

Sammy Lawrence was in the zone. He had been working on a song all morning, but nothing had worked until a few minutes ago. Excited, he had run to his office to get his banjo and immediately began plucking out the tune. 

Sammy began to realize that he wasn’t just _playing_ the music, he _was_ the music. The notes swirled all around him, the rhythm was pulsing in his ears, he was closing in on the final note-

A roaring sound entered his ears. Startled, Sammy dropped his banjo. It let out one last **ploink** as it hit the floor. Sammy remained on his chair, not even bothering to pick up his fallen instrument. His muse had left him, leaving him confused and futilely clutching at the last remnants of his song as it left his mind.

Sammy glanced toward the far wall. Sure enough, it was that damn pump switch making the noise. Sammy yelled a curse at it, and placed his head on the desk.

Soon, there came a knock on Sammy’s office door. When he did not answer, the door opened anyway, and a tallish fellow with a crooked nose stuck his head in the room. “‘Scuse me, Mr. Lawrence,” he apologized in a Brooklyn accent, “but I gotta flip the switch in here if you don’t mind-”

Sammy lifted his head to face the man. “I do mind, actually, Wally. Now, please. Leave me be.”

Wally jabbed a finger at the offending switch in the far corner. “But- what about the switch-”

Sammy cut in. “I’ll flip it myself, Wally. Now get out of here.” 

Wally shrugged. “Suits me,” he said, and left the room, neglecting to shut the door behind him, and dripping several puddles of ink onto Sammy’s floor.

As Sammy got up from his chair to turn the infernal device, he kicked his door closed and violently threw a rag at the puddles of ink. He sat back down in his chair and buried his face in his hands. A single tear trickled down his cheek. _Please._.. He sent a silent plea up to the heavens. _Please, whatever the hell is up there… or down there, for all I care…. Please fix this… I can’t go on…_ Sammy slumped onto his desk, knocking his pens to the floor.

_I can’t…_

* * *

Sammy must have fallen asleep, because he woke up. He was roused from sleep by a knocking on his door. He groggily stood up, brushing his hair away from his face, and moved to open the door. When he opened it, he saw the tired eyes and ragged smile of Norman Polk.

“Evenin’, Sammy,” he greeted wearily. “Sorry to disturb you-"

“Anything to get out of this damn office,” Sammy muttered under his breath.

“-But I’ve been sent to come collect you for this evenin’s recording session.”

Sammy almost yelled. He had totally forgotten about the recording session that was scheduled for tonight. He began rummaging through the drawers on his desk, his rows of filing cabinets, _everything,_ looking for his notes. All the while, he was frantically saying “But I’m not ready! I don’t have my notes, the song’s not edited, and I don’t even _know_ what do do about the-”

Norman put a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “Relax, man, relax!” he soothed in his deep voice. “You don’t need to have notes for this sort of thing, anyway! You just need to be in the recording booth with Miss Campbell and help her with her cues and the like! You don’ have to worry so much, my friend!”

Sammy’s face lit up. He walked to the door, straightened his bow tie, and said to Norman, “Well! Shall we head off, then?”

Norman chuckled at Sammy’s sudden eagerness, but silenced himself when his friend gave him a dirty look.

As they walked down the hall, Sammy asked Norman, “Why so weary, Mr. Polk? Rough day today?”

Norman sighed. “Nah, not the day, no… Joey was yellin’ at me again, that’s all. Nothin’ to worry about.”

Sammy turned his head towards Norman. “Yeah? Yelling about what, exactly?”

“Well, I may have accidentally walked in on him and the Ink Machine again.”

Sammy cringed. “Ouch. What was he doing with it?”

Norman shrugged. “Not much, just looked to me like he was rubbing its machinery and muttering something. Don’t see why he’d scream at me for walking in on ‘top secret activity,’”

“Unless he was embarrassed that you caught him caressing its gears,” Sammy cracked.

Norman chuckled. “Well, we’re here. Now, I gotta run up to my booth, so I’ll see you after the recording, okay pal?”

Sammy clapped his friend on the back. “See you, buddy.”

Norman left, heading for his projector’s booth, and Sammy went through the door into the music performance room.

* * *

Everyone was staring at him. The band conductor, the band, even Norman had joined in from up above, although he was grinning. The band conductor shook his head. “Late **again** , Sammy. We’ve all been waiting. Fortunately, Miss Campbell isn’t here yet, either, or we’d be writing you up to Mr. Drew right about now.”

Sammy glared at the conductor. "If Miss Campbell has not arrived yet then I see no reason to blame me for holding up the proceedings. Now, if you’ll let me pass…”

Sammy pushed past the conductor and crawled over the small barrier that separated the recording booth with the rest or the room. The conductor muttered something about “getting that window in there,” but he turned a blind eye.

Sammy sat down in one of the two chairs in the small booth, put his music and notes on one of the music stands, put Susie’s music on the other, along with a flower, and exhaled. 

A moment later, Susie Campbell threw open the door to the booth. Her wavy blond hair was all over her face, and she was out of breath. She sat down in the other chair. 

“Sammy! Hi!” Susie puffed as she fixed her hair. “Am I late?” she asked.

Sammy pretended to check his watch. “Nope. You’re right on time.”

“Phew!” Susie breathed a sigh of relief. “My watch must be fast. I thought I was going to be late!”

Sammy smiled. “"Don’t worry, I would have covered for you. I’ve been here for a while, getting everything set up _just_ right for you.” Susie blushed slightly. She blushed even more when she saw the flower. She smiled at Sammy and slipped the flower into her pocket.

The conductor tapped his baton on his stand. “ _Ahem,”_ he gave the two a meaningful look. “Now, if we are all _ready_ … Let us begin!” He pressed the button to turn on the band’s microphones, and pointed at Norman. Norman started the projector, playing a reel of “Sent from Above,” which was the debut reel for Alice Angel. The band began to play the opening theme for the episode.

Sammy was reaching to turn on the microphone in the booth when he noticed that Susie was breathing very rapidly. He took his hand back. “You okay there?” he asked.

Susie slowed her breathing a bit. “I’m so nervous!” she whispered. “What if I mess up! What if I miss my cue! What if-”

Sammy put a finger on her lips. “’What ifs’ get nobody nowhere. You have this, Susie, I know you do!”

Susie relaxed a bit, but Sammy tensed. “Your cue’s coming up. Get ready!”

Susie started to sweat. Sammy looked at her. “Breathe.” he reminded her. Susie took in a large gulp of air. Sammy glanced at the conductor, and turned on the microphone. “And…”

The conductor gestured toward them. Susie breathed again. Sammy placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Go.”

Susie began to sing.

_“I’m the cutest little angel sent from above, and I know just how to swing…"_


	2. A Few Minor Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy has a "minor problem" with the janitor, and meets the two most prominent figures in the studio.

Sammy Lawrence was still looking for his bow tie. _What had he done with it?_ He had come home from work the night before, he went to answer the phone, he had put it… where? _Where?_

Sammy decided it would be better to show up for work without a bow tie than not to show up at all, so he grabbed his keys and exited his house.

When he arrived at the studio, he found that the stairs to the entrance seemed to have a waterfall of ink pouring down them. Sammy groaned. The ink pump was _supposed_ to fix this problem, but, like everything else around the studio, it worked only about 50% of the time. If that.

When Sammy stepped around the ink river and entered the studio, he saw that the rule of ‘it only works 50% of the time’ seemed to apply to Wally Franks as well, who was sleeping against the wall, with his mop laying across his shoulder, standing ankle-deep in ink.

Sammy pushed him. Wally screamed and fell over, splattering his clothes with ink. Sammy glared at him.

“I suppose _you’re_ the reason the studio is flooded?” he yelled, sticking a finger in Wally’s face. “Now not only do I have to wait an hour to actually access my department, but I’ll have that pump switch grinding nonstop all day in my office? How is anyone supposed to even _think_ with all that noise?”

Wally stood up with difficulty, and backed away from Sammy. “Hey, look…” he tried to explain, but Sammy cut him off.

“And if I ever find you sleeping on the job again, _especially_ at a time like this, I will speak to Joey and make _sure_ that you are out of a job!” he yelled.

Wally had been rummaging in his overall pockets as Sammy was screaming, and now he held up what looked like a blob of fabric that was soaked in ink.

“Found your bow tie.” Wally said.

Sammy stared at it for a solid minute, before finally snatching it out of Wally’s hand. Wally quickly fled the scene, undoubtedly preparing himself for a dive into the inky depths of the Music Department to turn that damn pump switch.

* * *

After futilely attempting to wring out his bow tie, Sammy threw it into the nearest trash bin. He had been sitting in the [pub room](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fbendy-and-the-ink-machine.wikia.com%2Fwiki%2FPub_Room&t=ODIzYTBhMzE1ODg3MTVjY2Q5NzA2ZWIxZjYzYzI2ZDVmNGFiYjhiZCwxV1Z1UlJXSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AQfWsBuIuChLwDBovg1OKYg&p=http%3A%2F%2Feclectic-spaghetti.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170365397694%2Fthe-believer-chapter-two&m=1), along with all the other employees who worked in the levels beneath the animation department. Henry was nowhere to be seen, of course. He was always hunched over that desk of his, feverishly scratching at a piece of paper with a pen, day in, day out.

Sammy, who did not enjoy sitting around for long periods of time, unless it involved reading, got up from his seat and went up the stairs to the main hallway. He told himself that he was looking for a stray can of bacon soup to eat, but in reality, he just wanted to move around.

Sammy exited the pub room and was about to turn down the hall to visit Henry, when he heard a steady chugging coming from his right. He turned to see that the Ink Machine was running, grinding and pounding its machinery together to make thick black ink slide up into its nozzle.

Sammy saw a hunched figure fiddling with something in the back of the device, and moved around the machine to see who it was.

Sammy heard some indistinct muttering coming from the man, and tapped him on the shoulder to see him properly.

When the man turned around, Sammy took a step back. It was Joey Drew! With his pencil mustache and smooth black hair, he was unmistakable. Joey gave Sammy a hearty smile. His face was splattered with ink. “Why, as I live and breathe, it’s Samuel Lawrence! How are the songs turning out for you, my friend?”

Sammy tried his best to hold back a glare. “Fine, if you don’t count being distracted to the breaking point each day by that ungodly pump switch.”

Joey smiled again. “Well, Samuel, that’s just the problem I’m trying to fix! I’ve just been tuning up this here Ink Machine to suck in some of the excess ink, just to make it a little easier on you poor souls down in the lower departments!”

Sammy still didn’t feel too reassured. To change the subject, he began circling the Ink Machine. This was the first time he’d ever seen it up close, and he hated to admit it, but it was impressive. He could feel the raw power coming from within its gears, a sort of.. _. energy_ that was making the whole thing hum and pulse with life.

“So, you got a lot riding on this thing, huh, Joey - I mean, Mr. Drew?” Sammy asked.

“Oh yes, a _real_ lot.” Joey agreed, studying the machine along with Sammy. He patted the side of the machine. “This wonderful piece of equipment is going to make all our dreams come true!”

Sammy tilted his head. “Yeah, you keep saying that but… What does this thing actually even do? What’s the point of rebuilding the whole studio to accommodate it if it can’t do nothing?”

Joey clapped Sammy on the shoulder, a bit too roughly for Sammy’s liking. “Now, now, Samuel. For a moment there it sounded to me like you were doubting my judgement!”

Sammy was starting to feel a little nervous. “N-No. I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.”

Joey’s smile returned. “That’s good. That’s very good, Samuel.” He paused, listening for something. “Now, judging by the lack of clanging around in the lower floors, it seems that Mr. Wallace has finished with cleaning up the ink flood!”

Sammy relaxed a little. “Finally. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Drew, I have to get down to my department. Those cartoon songs don’t write themselves, you know!”

Joey shook Sammy’s hand. “Nice talking with you, Samuel. Now, get down there, work hard, and may your dreams cone true!”

* * *

Sammy started back down to his department, grabbing a can of bacon soup from a nearby shelf. He was so pleased with how his conversation had went, he almost forgot about the mind-grating distractions of the pump switch that awaited him down below.

Along the way, he passed Henry’s desk. Henry, with his ink-stained suspenders and tired hair, was hunched over his small desk, as usual, hard at work on another animation frame. A pile of discarded sheets lay on the desk and the floor.

Sammy walked over behind Henry, who didn’t even notice him. Sammy placed the can of bacon soup right on top of Henry’s desk. Henry stopped drawing and looked slowly up at Sammy.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he asked.

Sammy shrugged. “I would, but since you are relegated to this cramped space, you do not enjoy the luxury of a door.”

Henry shrugged. “Who needs a door? It just makes things more noisy.”

Sammy chuckled. “Ah, buddy, I have some stories to tell you about _noisy._ ”

Henry looked concerned. “What do you mean? I know how much you hate distractions.”

Sammy sat down and leaned against the wall. “Are you seriously that absorbed? Did you fail to notice that the studio was knee-deep in ink for the entire morning?”

Henry looked down as the residual ink splots on the floor and his pants. “Uh. Actually, no, I can’t say I did.”

Sammy laughed. “Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, as a result of this… 'minor issue,' I am now forced to contend with an ugly pump switch in my office that constantly grinds and moans all day, along with people coming in and out of my space all day, every day.”

Henry frowned. “That’s… not right. I’m so sorry to hear that, Sammy.”

 

Sammy stood up. “Thank you for your concern, Henry, but I believe I have to get back to my department now.”

Henry gave a rare smile. “All right. See you later, Sammy.”

Sammy turned to leave, but then whirled around and pointed at the can of soup. “Maybe you should take a lunch break for once in your life. I heard that stuff’s good for the soul.”

Henry picked up the can of soup. “Huh. Thank you, Sammy.”

Sammy smiled at Henry, and started down to the music department.


	3. Old Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy learns some shocking news, and Joey has a little run-in with post-polio syndrome.

Sammy Lawrence was venting. His day had been a living hell, and now he was sitting in a hall closet, ranting into an old cassette player he found lying around the studio. “So first Joey installs this Ink Machine over our heads. Then it begins to leak…” 

When he finished, he decided to go visit Henry again. Henry always had something nice to say. Susie did too, but today was her off day.

When Sammy reached Henry’s desk, he immediately knew something was wrong. The chair was neatly tucked in, Henry’s familiar satchel was not hanging off the desk corner, and, most tellingly, there were no sheets of paper on the desk. Not even any ink.

Sammy knew that Henry _never_ missed a day of work, not even when he was sick. One time, he had come to work with a bad flu and had to be literally dragged home by Norman. So Sammy knew that Henry had either had a car accident on his way to work, or he had overslept for one time in his life.

So Sammy did the only thing he could really do. He asked Wally Franks. As the janitor, he goes everywhere in the studio and hears everything. If he hadn’t seen Henry, something was very wrong.

Sammy found Wally next to the very hall closet Sammy had come out of, frantically searching the pockets of his worn and patched overalls. When he noticed Sammy, he forced a smile. “Heyyyy, Sammy Lawrence! My old friend! How’s it going, pal?”

Sammy blinked. “You lost your keys, didn’t you?” he asked in a monotone.

Wally grinned sheepishly, wringing his hands. “What? _Me?_ Lose my keys? No way! Definitely not! Absolutely no possible way I lost my keys! _Heh…”  
_

Sammy did not get angry at Wally, miraculously, only midly exasperated. “They’re on the floor right next to you, Wallt. Hey, listen, I was wondering… Have you seen Henry at all today?”

Wally had bent down to examine the floor. “Nope. Not since he quit late last night.”

Sammy frowned. “Hm. I see…” Then he registered what Wally had said. “Wait, _quit?_ What do you mean, quit?”

Wally picked his keys up off the floor. “I mean, he just up and left! For good! He and Joey were having an argument so loud you could hear it all the way down in Level P!”

Sammy was in shock. “Henry… left? What for?”

Wally shrugged. “I dunno. I heard him yelling about ‘that awful machine,’ ‘all that money,’ and ‘ink everywhere.’ Funny thing was, he even mentioned you.

Sammy pointed to himself. “ _Me?_ ” _  
_

Wally was rummaging through the hall closet now. “Yep! He said sumthin’ like ‘the poor man, can’t even think straight with all the noise,’ and ‘he deserves better!’“

Sammy sank down into a sitting position against the wall. “Me… It was my fault?”

Wally pulled a can of bacon soup from his bag and began to pry it open. “Well, a whole lotta diff’rent things, really, but yeah, you were a part of it.”

Sammy held his head between his hands. _“My fault… It’s my fault…”_

Wally drained the can of soup with one gulp. He shuddered involuntarily. “Well, see you ‘round, Sammy. I’ll try to keep hold of my keys next time, eh?” With that, Wally slipped around Sammy without a second glance and ducked into the nearest room. 

After a while, Sammy stood up. He felt like going back into the hall closet, but he knew that he had to at least get _some_ reasonable work done that day or Joey wouldn’t be happy.

* * *

Sammy had relocated to the music writing room for a while, in an effort to actually get some work done without going out of his mind. _Although,_ he thought darkly, _that might be happening anyway._

Sammy had not been sleeping very well lately, which only added to his frustration. He could swear that there was always a buzzing in his ears no matter where he was, like something was trying to whisper to him. He tried to ignore it, but it was so incessant that he could barely think straight at times.

And now, someone had started playing the GODDAMN ORGAN next door! The sound of the air through the pipes would have relaxed Sammy on any other day, but on this particular day, he was pounding his head on the desk in frustration, scattering all his papers and giving him a headache.

After a few more minutes of futilely trying to write, Sammy stood up and marched out the door and down the hall to the organ room, ready to give them a piece of his mind.

He was almost to the door when he ran smack into Norman Polk. Sammy muttered an apology, but kept storming onward. Norman, however, had other ideas.

Norman grabbed Sammy and turned him around. “Whoa there, Sammy! Calm down there, bud! You almost bowled over Mister Drew here!”

Sammy just noticed Joey, who was leaning against the wall, looking unwell. Sammy turned toward him. “Uh… Joey?” he asked, forgetting all formality. “Are you all right?” 

Joey was sweating very hard, but he gave Sammy a weak smile. “I… I’m surely doing fine, Samuel. I’m just-” He groaned and held his leg. “I’m just fine.”

Sammy looked toward Norman. Norman sighed. “Mr. Drew collapsed in his office upstairs. It was very fortunate for him that I arrived to discuss technical issues, or he might be in a lot of trouble. He needs to get to the infirmary quickly.”

Sammy sighed. “I’ll help you get him down there. Give me an arm, Joey.”

Joey held out an arm, and Sammy put it around his shoulder. Norman took Joey’s other arm, and they limped very, very slowly down the stairs to the infirmary.

When they got there, Sammy and Norman set Joey down on the bed and immediately, Joey closed his eyes. Despite him saying that he was ‘surely doing fine,’ Joey clearly wasn’t. He breathed in heavy rasps, and he was shivering, despite the fact that is was fairly warm in the studio. 

Norman found a blanket and put it over Joey. Sammy could do nothing except watch awkwardly. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked Norman.

Norman smiled. “Nah, Sammy, I’m okay here. Really. I’ll keep an eye on him. In the meanwhile, why not take this opportunity to get some work done without any distractions?”

Sammy’s eyes widened. Yes, he knew Joey was in a bad state, but with him ‘out of commission,’ so to speak, there would be nobody running the Ink Machine, which would mean there would be no ink leaking, which would mean…

“No damn pump switch!” Sammy almost yelled. He ran back up the stairs and to his office, where he immediately began to work. He did feel a little guilty knowing that his happiness came out of Joey’s suffering, but he reasoned that he couldn’t do anything about it, so why not make the most of it?

* * *

Sammy was elated. He had gotten so much done that afternoon that it had almost made up for the miserable morning he had. He was so happy, he didn’t even get mad when his door was opened, interrupting his composing.

His mood did not dampen when he saw who was at the door.

“Susie!” Sammy exclaimed. “It’s good to see you.”

Susie flushed. “It’s good to see you too, Sammy.”

Sammy pulled up a spare chair. “What can I do for you, Susie?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.

Susie glanced out the door. “Um, actually, I just came to say hello. Norman called me down here because I have some experience with medicine, and… Joey Drew isn’t doing well.”

Sammy stood up from his chair. “What do you mean?” he asked, fearing the worst. 

Susie shook her head vigorously. “No, no, no, it’s nothing like that! It’s, just… Well, maybe you should come see for yourself.”

* * *

Sammy could already hear Joey yelling, and he and Susie hadn’t walked down half the hallway yet. “I can walk!” Joey was shouting. “I don’t need any help! I-”

Joey’s word were followed by an alarming crashing sound. Sammy and Susie looked at each other, then dashed down the hall and into the infirmary. 

Joey’s bed was surrounded by at least a dozen studio employees. Joey was collapsed on the ground in the middle of them. Norman and Thomas Conner, the studio’s for-hire mechanic, were helping him off the ground.

Joey was still shouting. “I can walk! I don’t need your help!”

Norman sat Joey down on the bed. “Look, Mr. Drew. I know you’re all about that ‘nothing’s impossible mentality,’ but this… this is impossible. Look at yourself! You can barely stand at this state.”

Joey grumbled something under his breath.

Susie spoke up. “At this point, you’ll probably need a crutch to get around at the very least.”

Joey gave Susie a glare that made her take a step backward. Sammy put a hand on her shoulder. 

Thomas Conner produced a tall crutch from a drawer and handed it to Joey. Joey took it, stood up very shakily, and tried hobbling around with it. He seemed to be doing fine on the crutch, but he certainly wasn’t very happy about it.

Joey soon realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. He turned toward them. “Well, what are you standing around for? Get back to work!”

Every single employee in the room suddenly found the stairs to be highly interesting, and hurried toward them as quickly as possible. Sammy hesitated a bit before leaving. He looked and saw Joey sitting dejectedly on the bed, staring at the crutch. Sure, he knew that Joey was the one responsible for the god-awful ink machine, but something about him sitting there seemed so sad…

Sammy called out to him. “Joey?” Joey looked up at Sammy and almost smiled. “Hello, Samuel. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. You go on.”

Sammy smiled at Joey. “All right, Joey. Take it easy, okay?” Joey nodded.

As Sammy went up the stairs, he heard Joey call up to him. “Samuel? Expect some big changes when you return to work tomorrow!”

Sammy continued back to his department, wondering what Joey’s statement might mean…

* * *


	4. A Nasty Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy Lawrence does not sleep very well.

Sammy Lawrence was in bed when he felt it. He felt a prickling sensation in his head, like something was scratching at his skull with a sharp stick. Sammy rolled over in his bed. _Not now, please not now…_ he silently moaned. Sammy had been getting even less sleep lately, which was very hard for him, especially considering all the stress his job gave him.  


Sammy tried covering his head with a blanket. That did not help. He tried taking deep breaths. That only seemed to make his head ache even more. He got out of bed and took some anacin. He still felt like crap. In desperation, he smashed his head into the pillow and tried desperately to sleep.  


The sensation in his head was getting worse. Sammy groaned and cursed into his pillow. His head now felt like it was being squeezed with some sort of horrendous vise, and Sammy screamed out loud, lunging forward in his bed.  


With the racket in his head reaching a crescendo, Sammy actually blacked out, falling back onto his bed.

As Sammy Lawrence lay on his bed, his mind went elsewhere.  


Sammy felt like he was floating. As he looked down, he saw that he was on familiar ground - the halls of Joey Drew Studios. He could see the Ink Machine up ahead, and it was running. But the strangest thing was, there was no person in the room operating it. The floors were flooding with ink and the walls were positively dripping with the liquid. Sammy edged a little closer.

Wait. There was a figure hunched over the machine. The figure was positively covered in ink, like they had taken a bath in the stuff. Sammy inched a little closer. The ink was up to his waist by now, and Sammy could feel it, even though it was a dream. Clinging to his clothes, the ink seemed to be attracted to Sammy, like it was alive.

Sammy had reached the doorway of the Ink Machine room. He could see most of the figure now, and Sammy saw that one of its legs was twisted around and bent. assuming it must be Joey Drew, Sammy moved closer.  


As he approached, the figure suddenly leapt forward, drawing itself to its full height. Sammy jumped back, quite alarmed. The creature was hideous. Covered in ink, with only a white face that differentiated from the blackness. And a bow tie, and pointed… horns? _Oh God… Is that… Bendy?_ Sammy screamed in his head.    


“Bendy” reached one inky, malformed arm towards Sammy’s face. Sammy tried to scramble away, but the ink was up to his neck, and he barely managed a feeble splash before the creature got its hand on him.

And then it spoke.

S͔͓̦ͧ͊ͬ̏̿ͨ ̦̫͔̏̈́̏̆ͤ̿Ȧ͉̬̞̏ ̶ͨM͍̯̭̾͒ͭ̒͟ ̴̮̯ͬ̅ͣͯ̆M͓͎͇̥̤̠ͮ̍̈́̉ͣͮ ̥͚Y͚̐̂̒͘ ̰̜͓̲̝͎̣ͫ ̔͝L͚ ̶͎̜̇̊̐̇̾ͭͯǍ͉̻̞̱̘͙̈ͬ̇ ͑̀W̨͔̫̆̓͋ ̦̩͇ͦ͟R̵̰͚͙̺̾ͧ̂̐̏̚ͅ ͔̽E͖͙̯̕ ̞̬͓̘̹̫̰́ͣ͑͂͛̆N̼̖̲̆ͭ͐ ̘̇ͬC̡͚̃ͪ̾͋̉̉̒ ̖̯̙̎̃̋̋̊͢È̟ ͖̰̭̒.̶̝̠̱̮̫͉̌̈̓ͣͥ̃͌ ̖͍̰̘̪̬̑̑ͩ̌̋͛.̗̟ͥ̃͋ͬͫͫ ́ͫ҉̯.͚͖̎ͩ̀̍  


Sammy screamed in terror, clawing at the hand that covered his face. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. The ink was up to his mouth, and he couldn’t help but swallow some of it. The figure was getting closer, breathing in deep, heavy rasps _ohgodohgodsomebodyanybodyHELPME  
_

Then the ink poured into his eyes, and he blacked out.

* * *

Sammy woke up to discover that he was lying facedown on the floor. He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and blearily recounted the nightmarish events of last night’s hallucination.

But _was_ it a hallucination? Sammy knew that whatever he had experienced hadn’t been real, but he somehow knew that it was something more than just a stress-induced fever dream.

As he pondered this, Sammy had been slowly putting on his work clothes. He was putting on his bow tie when he happened to glance at the clock.

**10:27**

Sammy blinked. _That can’t be right..._ he thought. _I always get up at eight... That clock must be very fast..._ Sammy checked his watch. It also read 10:27.  


At this point, Sammy came to the harsh realization that yes, it really _was_ 10:27, and he had better get his sorry ass over to work as quickly as possible, as soon as possible.  


Sammy groggily sprang into action. He grabbed a pair of shoes from under his bed, slipped them on without bothering with laces, threw on a jacket, grabbed his hat, and raced out the door.  


As he ran to his car, he felt drops on his head. Sammy cursed. _Rain..._ It was too late to grab his umbrella, so he just had to grit his teeth and get in the car.  


Sammy finally arrived at Joey Drew Studios, screeched into the parking lot, burst out of his car, and rushed up the stairs. He made it up the stairs without falling, opened the door to the studio, and ran down the hall to the stairway to the music department-

“Going somewhere, Samuel Lawrence?”  


Sammy froze in his tracks. Leaning against the wall, holding a crutch in one hand, was Joey Drew. He was sweating with the effort of holding himself up. He would have looked very impressive, in his black pinstriped suit and excellently trimmed mustache, if it weren’t for the sweat that was staining his collar and the (what seemed like) gallons of ink that were splattered on his clothes and body.

Sammy tried to explain. “Joey-Mr. Drew! I, well, you see, I overslept, and-”

Joey held up an elegant hand. “Slow down, Samuel! Calm yourself! Now, I’m sure you have a perfectly fine reason for being late. Why not come up to my office and sort it out?”

Sammy was sweating almost as much as Joey now. He had never been in Joey’s office before, not even during his job interview. But, seeing as he didn’t really have much choice, he said “All right,”

“Excellent!” Joey beamed. He fumbled with his crutch, finally got it under his arm, and began to hobble very slowly toward the stairs that led to the top floor of the studio.

Sammy followed behind at a slow pace. He tried to offer Joey a hand, but Joey brushed it away gently. Eventually Sammy just stopped trying. Joey slowly went up the stairs, with Sammy close behind. When they finally reached the top, they were greeted with a large set of double doors. With a grin, Joey pushed them open.

Sammy gasped.

Through the doors was a room that took up nearly the entire floor. The carpet (yes, there was a carpet) felt soft and deep under Sammy’s shoes. A large, overstuffed couch lay in the center of the room. A phonograph on an end table played soft music. A wheelchair was shoved into a dusty corner. A fine walnut desk with an enormous chair sat in the back of the room. The desk had very little on it, only a few papers, an elegant nameplate, a bagel on a plate, and a mug of tea on a coaster. The desk itself was placed in front of a wall that was positively covered in posters. As Sammy stared, he realized that it was _all_ the posters. Every single poster for every single Bendy cartoon every produced was arranged neatly on the wall. The wall still had plenty of space on it.

Joey hopped over to his desk, stowed his crutch underneath it, and sat down with a sigh in the larger chair. “Do you like my collection?” he asked, smiling and gesturing towards the large array of posters. Sammy nodded. Joey pointed to a smaller chair on the other side of the desk. “Sit.”  


Sammy sat.

Joey leaned forward in his chair. “Now tell me, Samuel Lawrence. _Why were you late?”_

Sammy tugged at his collar. On the one hand, telling Joey what actually happened would make him seem like a lunatic. But on the other hand, not telling him, or worse, lying, would almost certainly get him fired, especially in this situation. Sammy knew from years of experience that Joey was very, _very_ good at catching liars.

So, Sammy did the only thing he really could do.

He told Joey everything.

* * *

It almost would have been worse if Joey had laughed.  If Joey had called Sammy a loony and thrown him out of the studio on the seat of his pants, Sammy would at least have the experience over with.

But Joey only sat, leaning back in his chair, sipping his tea and nodding slightly. When Sammy reached the part with the demon “Bendy,” Joey straightened.  


“He looked like Bendy, you say?”

Sammy, startled by Joey’s sudden interest, shrunk back in his chair. “Y-Yes, Joey. I mean, Mr. Drew.”

Joey waved his hand dismissively. “It’s all right, Samuel. Joey is fine. But this... ‘demon’... it couldn’t possibly...” Joey looked thoughtful for a few moments. Then he seemed to come to a conclusion in his mind. He reached across his desk and put a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “Sammy,” he said with finality. “I am not quite sure what went on in this dream of yours, but I am sure of one thing.”

“What?” Sammy asked.

“It was not a dream.” Joey replied. “Now. I want you to return to work. Make no mention of this to anybody, not even Miss Campbell! Do you understand me?”

Sammy was rather puzzled, but he decided that it was in his best interests to agree. “All right...”

Joey smiled. “Good. Now go, and may your dreams come true!”

Sammy stood up and walked out the door, giving Joey a curious backward glance _._

As Sammy left, Joey took an ink pot from his desk and began to write.  



	5. Hearing Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one has some elements of a few theoires over on @adobe-outdesign, so check those out! This could work as just a oneshot too, I just realized that, haha.

Sammy Lawrence was happy.

For the first time in weeks, he was actually enjoying himself at work. He actually had a chance to be play in the band for a change, and it was beautiful. Norman was in his booth, the band was swinging, Sammy was delightedly strumming the banjo, Susie was singing, and the new pianist, Jack Fain, was doing very well.

Sammy was truly happy, and for a few minutes, he could forget about Joey,  forget about “Bendy”, forget about the buzzing in his head, forget about... _everything._

After the session ended, and the band had all tumbled out the doors, Sammy was so elated he gave Susie a hug, but then remembered that the entire band was watching and broke off, red in the face, and staggered back to his office. 

When he sat down at his desk, Sammy allowed himself five minutes of quiet, happy silence before he would get back to work.

But before even two minutes was up, he was jerked out of his relaxation by the pump switch starting up again.

_krrrr krrrr krrrr.... krrrr krrrr KRRRR..._

Sammy moaned, put his head in his hands, and started massaging his temples. It was then that all the worst aspects of working at the studio came flooding back to him. The distractions, the incompetent janitorial staff, the distractions, the lack of a coherent organization system, the ink, oh god, the _INK-_

All the merriment of the morning was torn away from his memory, ripped from his like a page from a book. His whole life felt meaningless.

Sammy was screaming. He was screaming, but no sound escaped his lips. His mind felt like it was melting, he was in agony, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe- 

Then he heard a voice in his head.

* * *

 

**_Sammy Lawrence._ **

Sammy straightened in his chair. He glanced around, although he knew no one was there. His mind felt strangely clear. His eyes glazed over, and the voice continued. It was oddly powerful, as if whatever was speaking knew its way around, and was in perfect, total control.

**_Do you recognize me?_ **

Sammy’s mind worked at the question. He knew he had heard this voice before somewhere. He had to remember. He felt as if his entire life hung in the balance. Then it clicked.

_You... you were in my dream. You were “Bendy.”  
_

Sammy’s own voice sounded small and insignificant to him, even in his own head. The voice of “Bendy” had all the power, and Sammy knew it.

_**Yes.** _

There was no praise in its tone, no inflection at all, just cold, calculating words. Sammy was frightened, but he plowed forward.

_Wh... Why have you come?_

The voice chuckled coldly to itself.

_**I could sense you, Sammy Lawrence. Your pain. Your love. Your open heart.** _

Sammy was uneasy now, even more so than before. 

_What... What do you want from me?_

The voice answered simply.

_**Belief.** _

_And what do you offer in return for this ‘belief?’  
_

Sammy knew he was pushing it by asking this, but it sort of slipped out without thinking.

_**I’ll give you credit, Sammy Lawrence. You are not stupid. In return for your devotion, I offer to you a sanctuary. A quiet place to reflect, to work if you must. Free of any noise or distractions.** _

Sammy almost agreed right away, but then he actually thought things through. He didn’t want to go messing with things he didn’t understand unless he knew exactly what he was dealing with.

_Show me the place._

_**Very well. Go to your recording studio. Do not worry, for I assure you that no one will meet you on the way.** _

Hesitantly, Sammy got up from his chair, exited his office, and went down the hall. The hall was very dim, and Sammy found it hard to see. Funnily enough, he ran into no one in the hall, which was odd, because this was the busiest time of the day in the studio. Nevertheless, Sammy continued forward. When he arrived, he heard the voice again.

_**Your sanctuary will be hidden so that no other may access it. The key is in the instruments. Any time you wish to enter the sanctuary, follow what happens here exactly.** _

A loud clunk startled Sammy. He looked up and saw that the projector had turned on. He peered further, expecting to see Norman sitting in his chair, but there was no one there. 

Wait... Sammy could see a silhouette through the gap, but it didn’t appear to be moving. Sammy put on his glasses and looked again. 

What he saw was a cardboard cutout of Bendy, and it hadn’t been there before.

Sammy was very uncomfortable with the whole situation now, but he didn’t want to anger the voice, so he stood still and waited. Then he heard a sound. A single, piercing note, played on a violin. He whipped around, but there was nobody there. The violin still lay on the chair, but there was another cardboard cutout leaning against the wall beside it.

Then Jack Fain’s piano behind him played one singular note, then was silent. Sammy whirled around and saw what he feared: Nobody, just another Bendy cutout.

He heard the violin play again, and then after that, the bass in the corner. A Bendy cutout had appeared beside that, too. 

_**Before you may enter, you must first believe.  
** _

_What... What do you mean by that?_

_**You must receive me with open arms. You will do my will, and in return, you will have your greatest wish. A place of peace for your own.** _

_What must I do?_

_**You must speak, aloud, ‘I am ready to receive you, my Lord.’  
** _

Sammy hesitated. He looked around the room, at the projector, at the instruments, at the Bendy cutouts. He didn’t want to get mixed up in anything, but he needed that sanctuary.

“I am ready to receive you, my Lord.” 

There was a whooshing sound, and a whirlwind of ink descended on Sammy from out of nowhere. It swirled around him, clouding his vision and making him cough.

Then, very abruptly, the storm of ink closed in around Sammy, and poured into him. Sammy fell onto the floor, gasping. He blacked out for only a second, but when he woke, his vision was tinted black, like someone had washed black paint over his eyes. 

After that the projector turned off immediately with a loud clunk, and Sammy heard a grinding noise. He turned to see that a section of wall, a part that he had never paid attention to, was sliding upwards into the ceiling. Sammy, who had stood up and rubbed his eyes a few times, peered cautiously around the corner. 

Inside the room he saw a large desk with a stool, a valve in the corner, a toilet(?), a lit candle, and a banjo leaning against the desk.

**_It is all prepared for you, my prophet._ **

Sammy rushed inside and picked up the banjo. He sat down on the stool and began to merrily strum the strings.

The gate closed behind, leaving him in total darkness except for the candlelight.

Sammy was not afraid. Sammy knew that the voice, his Savior, was protecting him, and he knew that he was going to be very happy in the future.


	6. Never Look Back...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This got super long, haha! I think this is my favorite so far.

Sammy Lawrence was nervous. He was on the edge of a huge mob that had surrounded particular section of wall. The workday had just begun, and all the Music Department employees had descended Utility Shaft 9, just like always, and entered the lobby, just like always. What they saw on the wall, however, _that_ was where things deviated from the norm.

On the wall, right across from the big entry sign, were words. They were smeared on the wall in thick, black, ink, and they read: **_HE IS THE SAVIOR. IT’S TIME TO BELIEVE._**

All around him, Sammy’s coworkers were grumbling and speculating to themselves.

“ _That’s_ not coming off...”

“Who could have done this..?”

“Who is ‘He?’“

Sammy was in the back, trying to slip past the crowd. He had just left his office for _five minutes_ to get a cup of coffee, and _now_ all these people had to show up?

You see, Sammy was nervous for a good reason.

 _He_ had written on the wall. Sammy’s mind was still a little fuzzy from the experience, but he remembered taking out a can of ink, dipping his finger in it, and...

Sammy wasn’t quite sure why he did it, but now that he had, he felt strangely blissful. He had surely pleased his Lord, and he was sure that the day to follow would be a peaceful, quiet workday. He could work on some songs, he could play the banjo, all in the quiet of his sanctuary. He might even check in to see how Susie was doing...

But right now, all that had to wait. He had an immediate issue. Jack Fain, who had just emerged from... wherever the hell he goes off to, had noticed Sammy. Sammy tried to push through the crowd and get away, but Jack caught him. 

“Say, Sammy... You were here early this morning...” Jack began.

The entire mob was staring at them now. Sammy started sweating. He had been called a good liar before, but Jack really put him on the spot this time, and he had no answer for him.

“You were here early, so you might’ve seen who did it! Did you happen to get a look, Sammy?” 

Sammy exhaled. “No, I didn’t, Jack. I was busy in my office, working on a new song. That reminds me, how’re the words for ‘Siren Serenade’ coming along?”

Jack brightened. “Oh, they’re going grand! I’ve gotten loads of work done now that I’ve got the tune down, you really have a nice one on this piece...” Jack continued to rattle on. Sammy relaxed. He had defused the situation, now he just needed to slip out of the room and-

“Ladies and gentlemen!” [[MORE]]

Sammy nearly fell over. Standing in the doorway, in his elegant suit and ink-stained tie, was Joey Drew himself. He was holding his crutch, but Sammy noticed that he still was being practically carried by Wally Franks, who was wedged into the end of the hallway, peeking over Joey’s shoulder.

“Mr. Norman Polk had the common sense to come up to my office and tell me what was going on! Now, if you will step aside, I may let Wallace in to clean up the... whatever it is.”

Joey moved aside (well, more like shuffled) and let Wally into the room, who was still grumbling under his breath at being called ‘Wallace.’

When Wally got to see the wall, he jumped a foot in the air. “Holy smoke! Who wrote that?”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Wally sighed. “I get it. Hold on, I’ll get this cleaned off in a jiffy, and then I gotta go see Shawn Flynn... I mean, uh, I need to clean out the toy machine room! Yeah.” Wally almost fell over himself getting out of the room to find his supplies.

While Wally hunted for his stuff, Sammy noticed that Joey Drew was still in the corner, and he was staring at _him._ Sammy quickly looked away.

A few moments later, Wally came back, holding a large rag and a spray bottle of acetone. He went to work on the wall, muttering about how he’d have to buy a new rag after this.

Sammy tried to quietly slip away from the situation, but he couldn’t help noticing that Joey’s eyes were following him. 

When Sammy got to his office, he slammed the door and collapsed on his desk. He gathered up his papers and prepared to start working on finalizing ‘Tombstone Picnic,’ when he heard a knock on the door. 

Sammy’s tolerance to the distractions from doors opening and closing had broadened considerably since he was given his sanctuary, but he still sighed when the door opened.

“Sammy?”

Susie Campbell entered the room shyly, almost timidly, and Sammy smiled.

“Hello, Susie. What brings you here?”

Susie smiled back. “I just came to say hello, and...” She paused. “I was hoping you could give me some words of encouragement.”

Sammy nodded. It was Susie’s first solo recording session since her debut, and Sammy was not scheduled to be helping her this time. “Ah. Yes. _Right._ ” _  
_

Sammy tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, something to think about... I helped Jack write the lyrics for this song, so you _know_ it’s going to be just right for you.”

Susie blushed. “Thank you, Sammy. I’m still a little bit uneasy... Like something will go disastrously wrong somehow...”

Sammy put his hand on Susie’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s going to be fine. I’ll have a steaming mug of coffee waiting for you here when you get back.”

Susie was about to respond, but she was interrupted by Norman’s thunderous voice echoing through the halls and into the open door. 

“MISS CAMPBELL! WE’RE WAITING FOR YOU!” 

Susie blushed. “I have to go.”

Sammy grinned. “I can tell. You’ll do great.”

Susie rushed toward the door. “Thank you, Sammy- YES, I”M COMING, NORMAN!” And she was gone.

Sammy shut the door behind her, flipped the pump switch for good measure, and sat down at his desk. Maybe, with everyone else in the recording studio, he might not need to use his sanctuary... _For once,_ he thought bitterly. 

_**Sammy Lawrence.** _

Sammy stiffened from his slumped position, but this made him overbalanced, and his chair tipped backwards, sending him sprawling on the ground.

 _My.. My lord?_ Sammy ‘spoke’ back to the voice in his mind, without any thought to 

_**Greetings, my prophet. I-** _

_krrrr krrrr krrrr.... krrrr krrrr KRRRR..._

The voice was drowned out by the pump switch powering on for one of its automatic cleanups. 

Sammy jumped up. He couldn’t hear "Bendy” anymore. He ran to the pump switch and flipped it back to the ‘off’ position. Nothing happened. He tried again, twice, increasingly desperate. Nothing. The horrible grinding sound droned on and on, like some insidious insect, cutting Sammy off from his Lord. 

Sammy was breathing very hard. His Lord was trying to tell him something. He had to hear. He had to know. He had to leave. The noise, the noise was deafening in his ears, echoing through his mind, shaking his entire body _i have to leave i have to get out help help help i cant do this anymore_

Sammy wrenched open his door, thundered down the hall, and pulled the door of the recording studio open with such force that it slammed against the wall with a loud _CRASH!_

In the heat of the moment, Sammy had forgotten that there was a big recording session in progress. The band was swinging, Susie was singing, and Norman was running the projector in his booth. They hadn’t stopped playing, but the conductor was taking curious glances at Sammy, who was still standing in the doorway, breathing hard. Part of him didn’t want to, but he _had_ to stop it. He had to hear.

“STOP EVERYTHING!” Sammy yelled at the top of his voice. The band ground to a halt. Norman clicked off his projector, and Susie’s voice cracked before she too went silent.

The band conductor glared at Sammy. “I hope this is important, Sammy. we were nearly finished, and now the take is ruined!”

Susie went wide-eyed when she saw Sammy in the doorway. “Sammy? Is- Is something wrong?”

Sammy felt a pang of guilt, but he had already disrupted the recording. He couldn’t exactly leave now. Besides, he was so close...

“Everyone out! Into the hall!” Sammy jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing out the door.

The violinist stood up angrily. “Why? Is there some kind of emergency?”

Sammy was on the verge of panic. These people needed to just _get out of here!_

**“JUST! GET OUT!”** Sammy bellowed.

Everyone was too stunned to argue. The conductor gave Sammy one more baleful glance, then stalked out of the room. The band followed soon after. As they filed out of the room, Sammy realized that they were taking away his only access to his sanctuary.

“Leave your instruments!” Sammy yelped. The band gave him a quizzical look, but they left their instruments on the chairs and left the room. 

Sammy stood there for a moment, gazing around the room. Finally, he could escape to the peace and quiet of his sanctuary, and finally, _finally,_ hear what his Lord had to say.

“Sammy?”

Sammy jumped about a foot in the air. He whirled around. Susie Campbell was still standing in the recording booth. “Susie, I-”

Susie cut him off. “Sammy, what’s going on? You were so kind and encouraging before... And now you just come marching in here and shut us all down? Why? What’s wrong, Sammy?”

She seemed genuinely concerned for him, and Sammy felt terrible. Hearing Susie say what he’d done out loud was a jolt to the skull. It made him realize how horrible he was being, and all for what? A stupid voice in his head? 

For the first time in days, Sammy’s head felt clear. He stepped toward Susie, and she moved away from the window and opened the door. “Come on, Sammy. Come and tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you”

Sammy grinned. He felt light as a feather. Hearing Susie’s heavenly voice made him remember... He remembered how he felt before this whole “Bendy” thing began... Sammy was elated. He was free, free from his prison. He was running now. The black tint was gone from his vision, and he could see clearly... And what he saw was the beautiful Susie standing in front of him. The angel... She had saved his soul.

As he moved towards her, a tiny thought surfaced in the shriveled, selfish bit of his mind.

_But if I let it all go... I won’t have my sanctuary anymore... Do I want that?_

And that was it. That one little act of doubt... It was enough to pull him back. He felt lightheaded, and he sort of stumbled on his path towards Susie. 

When he stood up, his vision was clouded and murky again, and his brain felt heavy, like he had forgotten something important.

**_Welcome back, my prophet._ **

What had he been doing...?

He dimly made out Susie Campbell standing in front of him. She looked worried. “Sammy? Are... Are you all right?”

Sammy straightened. He didn’t remember what she wanted with him, but he did recall that he cared for her... The rational part of him decided that she could not get mixed up in what he was doing... She was not strong enough.

Sammy spoke in a firm tone. “...Susie, I do not want you to have any part in this... Please... Please just forget about what happened.”

Sammy turned, and trudged out the door. He vaguely perceived Susie calling out to him, but it was muted, and his ears were ringing.

As Sammy moved out of the Recording Studio, intending to start the projector to enter his sanctuary, he was lost in his own head, which made him walk smack into Norman Polk. Sammy was dazed for a few seconds, then his blurry vision cleared enough to see the projectionist standing right in his face. He looked exceedingly angry.

“What the blazes do you think you’re doing, Sammy? You send us all out here, breaking up a very important recording session, and now you just up and leave? What’s wrong with you, man?” Norman was bellowing in full force at Sammy now, when he saw how terrified Sammy was, his tone softened some.

“You’re usually such a kind person... What’s wrong, Sammy?”

Sammy couldn’t believe it. Here he was, with far more important things on his mind, and someone was trying to _talk_ him away from it all? 

Sammy drew himself up to his full height (which was still only up to Norman’s shoulder) and planted a finger right in Norman’s chest. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Mr. _Polk._ I have important problems on my mind, and people are trying to slow me down! First the Angel, and now you! I’ve had enough of this! I’ve had enough interruptions! I’ve had _enough_ **distractions!”  
**

Norman looked taken aback. Sammy had never shown this kind of atttitude towards him before... or anyone, for that matter. Before he could say anything else, Sammy stalked away from him and up the stairs.

Sammy had done this before, of course, so he knew that he had only a certain amount of time to play his favorite song, and, since the instruments weren’t put away in neat rows like they usually were, he had to go much faster than usual.

With a _clunk,_ Sammy started up the projector, and tore down the stairs as fast as he could run. He sprinted around the hall, past the crowd of band members before Norman could say a word, and into the studio. Sammy slammed the door closed, and before he could catch his breath, Sammy dashed around the room, plucking a single note on the violin that lay on the leftmost chair, rushing to slam his hand on the piano, tearing back to the violin, and then practically threw himself at the bass fiddle over in the corner. It let out a solitary note, and immediately the projector turned itself off. Sammy ran over to the gate, and, sure enough, it was opening, with a steady, low creaking sound. As soon as it was high enough to accommodate his head, Sammy dashed inside.

Sammy lit a candle and walked down the hallway to his desk. The gate shut behind him, and Sammy was in complete darkness, except for his candle. He set it on the desk, and sat at his stool, waiting, waiting to finally hear what his Lord had to say to him.

 ** _Greetings, Sammy Lawrence._** The voice of “Bendy” washed over Sammy’s mind like a dream. Instantly, Sammy forgot all that had happened before he entered his sanctuary. None of it mattered. He was here now.  
****

_My Lord! I finally hear you! Your voice... It is soothing._

_**Good, good...  
** _

_You were interrupted before, my Lord... What was it you were trying to tell me?_

_**I wished to congratulate you on your... endeavor this morning... Your devotion is truly exceptional.** _

_Th-Thank you, my Lord!  
_

**_However. I strongly urge you not to associate with that... angel... anymore. Her words are strong. I am impressed you resisted her siren’s song._ **

_Of course, my Lord. My belief in you is what saved me._ Sammy winced, sure that “Bendy” would call him on his lie. But the voice took no notice, and continued.

_**Very well, my prophet. I shall leave you now. Enjoy your solitude.** _

Total silence. Sammy breathed deeply, inhaling the peace and seclusion of his sanctuary, and exhaling all the strife and worry that plagued his life outside. Here, he could relax. Here, he could be happy. Here, he was free.

As Sammy turned to his desk, he frowned. Something was there that did not belong. Or, rather, two somethings. A book, with a piece of paper resting on it. Sammy picked up the paper first. It was written in fancy, loopy letters that Sammy instantly recognized as the handwriting of Joey Drew.

* * *

 

_Dear Samuel,_

_Having seen your recent work in the hall, I understand what you are up to. I have an offer for you, so would you kindly meet me up in my office after your work is finished? In the meantime, I've provided some light reading to pass the time. It may enlighten you._

* * *

 

Sammy stared at the page for a few minutes more, then crumpled it up, tossed it into the toilet, and flushed it. Then he picked up the book. As he expected, it was another of the countless copies of "The Illusion of Living" that Joey had made.

Sammy was angry, frustrated, and more than a little shaken. How had Joey found his sanctuary? How did he know Sammy had made the writing in the hall? The questions kept piling up in his mind, until Sammy had a resolution. He would go see Joey, but not to accept his "offer" (whatever that was), but to get _answers._

After Sammy returned to his office (keeping watch for Norman and Susie along the way), he threw the book into the trash can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god i am gonna continue updating this if it kills me


End file.
